


bad things come in threes

by aquilaofarkham



Category: Castlevania (Cartoon), 悪魔城ドラキュラ | Castlevania Series
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, One Shot, Prologue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 11:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16136396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquilaofarkham/pseuds/aquilaofarkham
Summary: Three pivotal scenes revolving around the main trio that act as a prologue to Netflix’s Castlevania - the destruction of the Belmont manor, Sypha traveling with the Speakers, and Alucard witnessing Lisa’s execution.





	bad things come in threes

**TARGOVISTE, WALLACHIA**

_“They found a witch on the outskirts of the city.”_

Mother always told him to ignore what others said about his family, no matter how hurt or angry he felt. People always fear what they cannot comprehend. But he should never believe what they say.

_“The doctor? Always knew there was something suspicious about her.”_

_“What will happen to her?”  
_

_“Nothing good.”  
_

Now Adrian isn’t sure, and it kills him inside. He tries blocking out every overheard voice as he rushes through the woods at an inhuman speed. They say the church found Lisa, formerly of Lupu, and are now acting upon their heinous superstitions. Adrian doesn’t want to believe it. The half human half vampire holds onto the hope that there’s still enough time; he’ll reach her long before they have a chance to. If he meets the witchfinders, he knows what must be done.

With his long coat billowing in the wind, Adrian tells himself to keep running. Stop for nothing. His determination is only outmatched by his rising hatred for those who are allowing this. The Bishop of Targoviste, the Witchfinder General, the ones who saw his mother’s skill as a doctor and said witch. Devil worshipper. And what of those who benefitted from Lisa’s goodness? They entrusted the lives of their families and themselves to a headstrong woman who healed their many ailments. Where are they?

Adrian chastises himself for not being there sooner. Against his own wishes, he lets genuine panic bleed into his more level-headed thoughts. Soon enough, he arrives at winding path lined with wildflowers. He’s close. Yet the once welcoming sight gives Adrian no relief, only more dread. He looks up and sees a tower of smoke rising higher into the sky. The dhampir runs further down the path, just to be greeted by something he only ever saw in his nightmares. Lisa’s clinic, his second home, engulfed in flames. Adrian should have known that no amount of reassurance or “there’s still time” muttered under his breath would have been enough to save it.

He doesn’t allow himself to break down. Not yet, not when he sees a familiar silhouette kneeling in front of the fire. Beside them lies another body dressed in the garb of the witchfinders. Adrian cautiously steps forward but before he can speak, their head spins around like a frightened animal, jumping at every out of place sound.

“Julia... it’s alright, it’s only me.” Upon hearing Adrian’s soft voice, Julia Laforenze, Lisa’s most trusted assistant, takes a few sorely needed breaths of relief. Her usually well kempt hair is in tangles, her clothes are dirtied with ash, and she is still visibly distraught, but she manages to stand on her feet.

“Adrian, thank God you’re okay.”

“What happened? Where is my mother?”

“It was a normal evening. We were tending to some patients but once they all left, the witchfinders and priests, they... they came for us.” Adrian listens intently, despite knowing how hard it will be. “They wouldn’t even allow us to speak up for ourselves. They didn’t care. The priest leading them ordered for everything to be destroyed. The medicine, Lisa’s notebooks... they’re all gone.”

“Julia... where is Lisa?”

“They took her. I know they don’t have the mercy to give her a fair trial.”

Adrian glances at the body; his limbs are bent in unnatural positions while black bile oozes out of his eyes and mouth. “What of him?”

“He tried to take me as well. But he won’t be a problem for us. Not now... not ever again.”

The dhampir feels a shiver crawl up the back of his neck, yet he holds no sympathy for the witchfinder. Julia, much like Lisa, is a kind woman with good intentions. Unlike Lisa, she was born with abilities beyond understanding and has never been afraid of them. Nor has she ever been hesitant to use these powers.

“Do you know where they might be holding her?”

“The cathedral. I’m coming with you.”

Adrian places his hands upon Julia’s shoulders. “No, they’ll be looking for you. Is there anything that can be salvaged? Anything you and my mother worked on together?”

Julia ponders his question for a brief moment. “There might be some small things. I’ll try my best.”

“Take whatever you find and go to the Baljihet Mountains. You’ll be safe there.”

“What about you?”

“I’m going into the city. I’m going to find her.”

“Wait, Adrian!” Before he can leave, Julia steps forward and wraps her arms around him. The embrace is short, too short for either of their liking, but time is of the essence. It’s enough to show how much Julia cares about him and his family. “Take care and good luck. If you ever need me... you know where to search.”

Adrian looks at her as if to say, “I wish the same for you.” Not wasting another second, he darts back down the path. It seems as though the running will never stop. That’s all the Țepeș family has been doing these past twenty years. Running from the church, from witchfinders, from fellow creatures of the night who were less than enthusiastic of the marriage between a vampire and a human. Or the birth of a bastard dhampir.

The gates of Targoviste come into view sooner than Adrian expected. Fortune may actually be on his side after all. There aren’t any guards in sight; another sign in his favour. As Adrian makes his way through the city, he notices how the streets seem oddly deserted. No horses, no carts, or citizens visiting their local tavern for a long night of drinking. It’s as if something is attracting everyone together, young and old, poor and rich, drawing them to a single location.

An execution.

Adrian doesn’t want to think the worst but it’s the only thing propelling him towards the grand cathedral situated at the very centre of Targoviste. Just as he reaches his destination, he skids to a halt as a distant golden hue catches his eye. An impenetrable crowd blocks Adrian’s view, but the dhampir is resourceful. He assesses his surroundings and quickly finds the ideal vantage point. Climbing the overarching buildings is no challenge for him.

After reaching the top, Adrian looks down, nearly blinded by fiery embers carried by the wind. The heat on his face is unbearable but he cannot turn away from the woman tied to the pyre. Lisa’s dress is nothing more than a rag and the long golden hair he used to braid white flowers into has been cut short. She doesn’t beg or cry out in pain; she won’t give the crowd that kind of satisfaction.

Adrian’s human heart pounds with relentless hatred. He grips his sword handle with a force that could snap it in half. Glaring down at the church members and witnesses, he hungers for their blood. Angry, monstrous tears well up in his eyes as he pictures each and every one of them dead. Their hearts, organs, and limbs strewn across the cobblestone streets while the gutters overflow with their blood. The dhampir’s humanity overcome by rage. Maybe then his father’s “friends” will finally accept him as one of their own.

“Don’t hurt them! They don’t understand!” Adrian’s thoughts of death are cut off when he hears Lisa’s voice shouting over the flames. He watches his mother lifting her face to the heavens. Can she see him?

“I know it’s not your fault... but, if you can hear me, they don’t know what they’re doing! Be better than them!”

Be better than them.  _You place too much faith in me, mother._ But Adrian cannot move. His anger still burns, yet his grip on the crissaegrim loosens ever so slowly. Should he heed Lisa’s final wishes? If he doesn’t, is this truly how he wants to honour her memory?

There are so many things Adrian wants. His mother alive, the ones responsible dead, his family left alone. This overwhelming feeling of guilt and self-loathing to end.  _You’re wrong, mother. It is my fault._

Vlad should be returning home soon. Adrian will go to his father and mourn alongside him. Then they will discuss what must be done.

 

* * *

  

**ENISALA, WALLACHIA**

Sypha misses the countryside.

Who wouldn’t? It’s vast, quiet, and lonely but not the unbearable sort. One can be at peace with their thoughts without much disturbance. The opposite of a city like Enisala. Crowded, loud, claustrophobic, and with too many wandering eyes staring while a traveling congregation of hooded, blue-clad Speakers make their way down each street. The real reason why Sypha and her group keep to the alleyways; better they don’t become the centre of attention. Especially with children under their protection.

“We should hurry,” Arn mentions. “They might leave without us.”

“They would not do that. Stop worrying.” One child grabs onto Sypha’s hand in order to keep up as they move. Speaking to another in Spanish helps her feel more at ease, though Arn’s concern is not unfounded. Sypha knew tensions were steadily rising among the people of Wallachia. She didn’t need her grandfather to tell her that. But when they arrived in Enisala to offer their assistance and join a separate train of Speakers, things were far worse than anyone expected. Superstitions, paranoia, citizens turning against one another. People calling for anyone suspected a witch to be burned alive immediately. A mirror of Targoviste.

“It’s wrong,” Sypha mumbles.

“What did you say?”

“I said it’s wrong what happened to that woman.”

Arn knows what Sypha is referring to. The Speakers travel fast, but terrible news travels even faster. “You don’t believe she was a witch?”

“No. Even if she was, she did not deserve to die like that.” Sypha holds the trembling child close against the side of her body. Every word she says is dripping with disgust.

“You are right. It was a great injustice no matter what, but did you hear what happened following her burning?”

“No...”

Arn contemplates his next statement. “Many people who were there claim they saw a vision that appeared out of the fire and then vanished.”

“What sort of vision?”

“They say it was the Devil. But... others swear they heard the apparition call itself Dracula.”

Arn now has Sypha’s full attention - and fear. Everyone says Vlad Dracula Țepeș is no more, that the horrors he inflicted upon Wallachia and others died with their tyrant a long time ago. Sypha knows better. Death is not always the end and vampires do exist.

“What do the oracles say?”

“One does not need a soothsayer or stories from the future to know what a terrible omen it is.” Always the voice of reason, even if it does sometimes come across as rudeness to Sypha.

However, there is truth in what Arn says yet the real Speaker oracles have said very little about Targoviste. Sypha has always respected their words, but this needless silence aggravates her. Should the Speakers heed the warnings and leave Wallachia for their own safety? Or should they continue on their path towards cities and towns that need their aid the most? Questions she wishes the oracles would answer in order to quell shared anxieties. Instead they give vague truths, claiming the future is shrouded in mist. They announce that all caravans should travel to the city of Griset but do not say why.

Her grandfather, always the gentle one, reminds her to be patient. Maybe, or rather hopefully, the oracles will reveal everything once the stories become clearer, but Sypha is still frustrated. At least Arn feels the same way.

“What are you doing here?” An unfamiliar, demanding voice asks the two Speakers. They don’t stop or acknowledge the question, knowing that it’s not worth their attention. Sypha has heard it more times from observing citizens than she cares to keep count of.

“I said what are you doing here?” The same voice repeats, turning the inquiry into a threat. Sypha turns around, ready to quiet them for good, until she sees a man pulling one of the Speaker children away from the group. It’s not clear whether he is a priest or witchfinder, but she’s not going to take any chances.

“It’s not safe! Where are your mother and father?”

“Let go!” The child resists but the man’s grip on their arm is like iron.

“Stop writhing!”

Sypha feels the first sparks of heat crawl towards her fingertips.

“No! Go away!”

“You little brat...”

“Leave them!” Sypha’s anger echoes off the stone walls. Arn takes a step back while the other children cower behind him.

“This is your fault, Speaker! Where are you taking these poor children? Hand them over this instant.” The man opens his mouth but Sypha’s tolerance has already run dry - not that she held any for him to begin with. Instead of words, surprised gasps that turn into chokes leave his lips.

“Do not make me repeat myself.” Sypha growls, switching languages as she lifts her pinky and index finger, emitting a small ball of light between the tips. Raising his hands to his neck, the stranger lets the child go. They run back to the group, unable to look away.

“Arn. Get the children to safety. Do not let them see this.” Arn tries to do just that with very little success. She doesn’t join him, even when the man stumbles to the ground, blood dripping from his gaped mouth.

“M... my throat... burning...” Sypha furrows her brows and concentrates on the spell.

“Sypha, no! He isn’t worth it.”

“He is worth every second of it.”

“Then let his blood be on someone else’s hands. Remember our teachings! Think of what others would say about us!”

She pauses. Killing the man would be easy for her; easy and quick. Then Arn had to raise the question of what would come after the deed is committed. They would be feared, yes, but also hated. Sypha could give herself up to protect her commune along with others; a useless, ineffective sacrifice. The Speakers will still be hunted down as murderers.

Arn and the children wait with bated breath for what Sypha will do next. She bites the inside of her cheek, hard enough to draw blood. The light fades as she turns to face Arn. “Get everyone to the caravan. Do not wait for me.”

“Sypha...”

“I will catch up to you soon. Now go! Quick!”

Arn fears what Sypha will do the moment his back is turned to her. However, what matters most now is the safety of the children. Guiding them out of the alley, he leaves Sypha behind, telling each one to not look back. Breath slowly returns to the stranger, but she’s not finished with him.

“Consider this a warning.”  _One you do not deserve._ Before he can stand, Sypha clenches her hand into a fist. With a sickening  _CRACK_ , five of the man’s fingers are curled backwards, deformed by an unseen force. His horrified wails of pain give her some satisfaction. “Never come after us or try to take one of our own again, or next time I will not spare your life.’

‘Hunt for witches and you will get one.” The stranger gives no response. Sypha walks away with anger in every step she takes. There are other monsters in this world. She will save the worst of her spells for them.

 

* * *

 

**MUNTENIA, GREATER WALLACHIA**

It begins well past midnight when the corridors are silent. Neither the moon nor stars shine this fated night, which makes the cowardly perpetrators’ escape all too easy. They work quickly, breaking in and planting their fires in as many corners as possible, before disappearing into the shadows with the hope that their little gifts will grow and finish the job for them.

Trevor stirs in his bed, trying to sleep off another long evening spent with good food, good drink, and even better company. An evening that, while much needed by everyone, Trevor needed the most. Part of him is still angry at everything. The rumours, the ostracization, and the excommunication to top it all off. But if there’s anything the Belmonts are known for, it’s their persistence.

“Life will still go on for us.” That’s what Sonia Belmont told her son following the news of exile for their family. Trevor wants to believe it. The Belmonts will do their work and continue protecting the people of Wallachia. Church be damned.

Opening his drowsy eyes, Trevor awakes to the stench of smoke wafting into his room. He almost ignores it, thinking it’s just a torch that’s been left burning for too long, until the smell grows. Stronger and stronger, faster than he can prepare for. Trevor sits upright in a panic as a thickening grey cloud obscures the walls, fireplace, and bookshelves. Not bothering to put on anything more than the thin tunic and trousers he was sleeping in, he runs out into the hallway, shielding his face to the best of his ability. He hears glass shattering and his family heirlooms burning. The wooden beams holding the manor together are already in flames.

There’s only one thought on Trevor’s mind as he makes his way along the hall: save his family. Nevermind his safety, nevermind his own life. Get them out of the building before the fire guts through it entirely. “Mother! Father! Hold on! I’m coming, just hold on!” His voice is choked back by the smoke, drowned by the encroaching flames.

“Come on... come on, just a little furth-GAH!” A sudden, searing pain shoots through Trevor’s head. He falls to his knees with a hand covering his left eye. Scattered about are burnt remnants of wood and stone; they must have dropped from the ceiling. “Fuck...” Trevor hisses, feeling the warm blood crawl down his cheek then onto the floor. Despite his shaky legs and lungs full of smoke, he rises to his feet.

After what seems like a cruel eternity, Trevor arrives just a few feet away from his parents’ bedchamber but there is no reason to celebrate. He strains his watery eyes, trying to look past the chaos, and sees something that instills a new kind of fear within him. Lying in the doorway is his father. Trevor forgets about his fresh wound, even with it clouding his vision with red, and rushes to Gabriel’s side. His forehead is painted with blood, dripping over his closed eyes.

“Father!” Trevor shakes his shoulders. “Can you hear me? We need to leave right now! Father, you need to get up!” In the middle of everything, he notices the larger man’s chest. There’s no movement, not a single breath. “Please, just get up!” He cries out, doing whatever he can. It’s not good enough.

“Trevor?” Speaks another voice from inside the room. Trevor looks around and finds his mother trapped underneath more rubble, her body pinned against the floorboards. No matter how much she struggles, Sonia cannot free herself.

“Don’t move! I’m getting you out of there.” Trevor coughs out as he crawls towards her.

“Trevor... I can’t feel my legs...”

“Just hold on!” Gritting his teeth, he tries lifting the first plank of wood.

“You need to get out.”

“I will but not before you and father!” Nothing moves a single inch and it feels as though his fingernails are close to tearing right off. Trevor doesn’t care.

“It’s too late for me. Just go, get out while there’s still time for you.”

“Don’t you dare say that! Don’t you fucking dare give up!” Trevor barely feels the pain in his hands; nor does he notice the tears coming from his own eyes.

“Trevor for once in your life listen to me!” Sonia screams. It convinces her son to stop before he does irreversible damage to himself. Though Trevor does what he’s told with great reluctance. “You need to go... go and live. They can’t kill us all. You need to show them that.”

“No. Not without you.”

Using the last of her strength, Sonia reaches out and touches Trevor’s bloody cheek. “I love you more than anything in this world. And there’s so much more I wanted to teach you... but this is my final lesson to you. Now go.”

Trevor has exhausted not only all his options, but his voice as well. Yet he still protests. “I’m not leaving without you.”

“I found him! He’s in here!” A faint voice calls out as fire and crumbling rubble continue to surround the two Belmonts. At first, Trevor can’t hear them. His focus is entirely on Sonia, even when he feels multiple hands grab hold of his shoulders and arms. They pull him backwards, away from the only thing that matters to him.

“What the hell are you doing?! Let me go!” His strength has been drained past its limit, but Trevor gives them a fight. He thrashes about, trying to tear himself out of the rescuers’ grasp. “Help her! Just leave me and go save her, you bastards!” Only one can be saved, and they know this. Trevor might know as well, but he refuses to accept it. Especially when he’s being pulled farther and farther away, watching as Sonia’s weary face disappears behind a veil of smoke.

They drag him down each corridor, their window of opportunity growing smaller by every second. Objects Trevor knew his whole life, everything from books to tapestries hanging off the walls, crumble into blackened cinders. Evidence of a family’s legacy gone in an instant. When they finally make it outside, the cold air hitting Trevor’s face like a dozen knives, it’s with only a short moment to spare. With a final burst of fire, the manor’s entire roof collapses, engulfing the building in red and gold.

Trevor is angry at Sonia. Enraged. She was always the strongest, the best. She spat in the face of death. Why didn’t she try harder? Why didn’t she let him save her? His misguided anger is quickly drowned out by an oncoming sense of grief and guilt. It wasn’t Sonia’s fault, nor was it the fault of the rescuers. Whatever blame there is lies with whoever started the fire. But perhaps, Trevor thinks, some of it may lie with him.

It can’t be changed, it can’t be made any better. The last surviving Belmont is carefully lowered to his knees onto the wet grass. All he can do is watch. The blood covering his left eye is still wet.

 

**Author's Note:**

> watch season 2 of the netflix show retcon literally everything in this


End file.
